


Black and Gold

by stephanericher



Series: SASO 17 [19]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: He skates through it, burning up the ice under his feet, ignoring the signal and taking a double-shift; the more he rests the more he feels it.





	Black and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> same verse as poke check, hooked, & results don't count
> 
> saso br3 so this was actually written right after hooked
> 
> ....shit im gonna have to make this a series at some point

The third period is already a grind; Aomine’s legs are heavy with the weight of the rising ice time, going up throughout the playoffs in a steady slope. He doesn’t have a saturation point, though; there’s no such thing as too much; he’s not going to start losing a step here, not when they need to force a sixth game against Arizona, not when they’re three wins away from going to the finals. He’s not reaching his limits when there’s so much more hockey left to play and when the team needs him. He skates through it, burning up the ice under his feet, ignoring the signal and taking a double-shift; the more he rests the more he feels it.   
  
The puck skips over a stick; Aomine swears as it slides down the ice, picking up speed. He’s giving chase but he’s not the only one; he’s faster than Himuro head-to-head but Himuro takes all the shortcuts he can, pushes himself harder and he’s going to get there first. Aomine tries to head him off; there’s the puck slowing down before the goal line. Murasakibara’s still in the net, not going to come out and play it; Aomine’s not going to hear it from him if he loses this battle. Which he won’t.  
  
He slams hard into the glass, the puck under his stick (so much for hybrid icing) and Himuro smashes into him before the whistle sounds; the play’s dead but he’d caught Aomine on the elbow. Aomine shoves back at him.  
  
“Pay attention,” says Himuro  
  
“Play’s dead,” says Aomine.  
  
“Not until the whistle.”  
  
Murasakibara pours water on his face and shoots both of them a disdainful look that says if he was still a skater--well, Aomine seriously doubts he’d go off to the races like that, so he settles for bumping Himuro on the way back into the zone before Coach calls him back for a change. He watches Himuro say something to Kagami as they circle around the dot, and then Kagami glances back at him. Aomine grins.

* * *

By the second overtime, Aomine’s legs have stopped feeling like they’re encased in some sort of heavy metal. They’ve stopped feeling, period; they’re moving underneath him but he’s running on pure adrenaline and reserves now, longer and longer shifts because they’re so far down the wire. Coach isn’t going to lose this just because he’d put the fourth line out there, fresher or no (and fresh is awfully relative right now), and he needs Aomine on special teams, with one of Arizona’s defensemen taking a shitty slew-foot penalty that almost gets Aomine in his face (except he’s too tired to fight). He’s not too tired to take the faceoff in the Arizona end, skate to his positioning and wait for the puck to come. Kagami’s marking him, aggressively trying to block off the passing lane; Aomine waits. Kagami commits to one side; the puck comes out and in; Kagami recovers but Aomine’s got the shot off already. He doesn’t have enough room to make the shooting motion picturesque, but it’s pretty fucking picturesque when the puck goes up and in, right over the goalie’s shoulder, the sound of the goal horn the sweetest thing he’s heard maybe ever.   
  
Aomine raises his arms in celebration, slamming the glass; it’s only a few seconds before his teammates start piling on. Murasakibara’s the last, everyone else stopping him on the way to congratulate him on a game well-played, a game and a half’s worth of shots and then some, shutting the door all through both overtimes. Aomine practically falls into his arms; he’s just starting to hear the crowd screaming still, the announcer embellishing details, the reporters out already. They’ll be named stars, probably along with the Coyotes’ goalie; Aomine’s got no patience for an interview right now and Murasakibara’s always got even less.   
  
“Took you long enough,” Murasakibara murmurs.  
  
“I was just getting warmed up,” says Aomine. “I did it, didn’t I?”  
  
Murasakibara lets him down; he taps Aomine’s ass with his stick and shoves him in the face with his glove. Aomine coughs; it smells like sweat and grime and rubber.   
  
The locker room is quiet; they’ll go over all this shit tomorrow on the plane to Arizona and there’s too much to fucking process. Aomine’s not sure how he gets dressed, only that he ends up in his suit pants and Murasakibara’s team hoodie and no one gives a shit. Murasakibara’s been picking at the gold numbers on the chest; they’re beginning to flake off. Aomine rubs it and his hand shines.  
  
“Stop fucking with it,” says Murasakibara.  
  
Aomine’s too tired to argue. The adrenaline crash is already hitting him, and he’d be fast asleep in the car if they lived farther away and if the lights were still off when they get back, but the thought of seeing Kagami and Himuro right now, after a win like this, brings it surging back and he’s--not running, but definitely walking fast up to the door.  
  
Himuro’s half-asleep in Kagami’s lap; he looks like he’s struggling to stay awake, a valiant effort (speaking of high ice times, he must have been out there practically every minute Aomine was and then some, and he’d taken some pretty fucking brutal hits; he’s probably going to be all black and purple tomorrow if he isn’t already). He makes an effort to sit up but Kagami’s murmuring something too soft to hear and it gets him to lay his head back down on Kagami’s shoulder.   
  
“I fucked up,” Kagami says, and Murasakibara kisses him, swallowing the rest of his apology.  
  
“Yeah, you did,” says Aomine, grinning; Kagami flips him off while still kissing Murasakibara; Himuro’s laughing and his eyes are probably still closed.  
  
“Are you really not too tired to do this,” says Murasakibara.  
  
He rubs at his own lower back; Kagami’s hand joins his a second later--or wait, that’s Himuro’s; it’s both and Aomine’s pretty fucking tired. He yawns.   
  
“Don’t wait up for me.”  
  
“That was a good goal,” Himuro says.  
  
“I know,” says Aomine. “Thanks.”  
  
Kagami makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Aomine’s not too tired to go over and kiss Himuro over Kagami’s shoulder.  
  
“You’re getting that gold shit in my beard,” says Kagami. “What the fuck, is that Atsushi’s?”  
  
“You can’t wear it,” says Murasakibara, half-haughty half-tired.   
  
“Bed,” says Himuro, with all of his captain’s authority.   
  
They don’t need to be told again.


End file.
